Is it not enough
to have walked so far,
shrinking, hollow, stumbling
to the edge.
This sunken canyon,
this precipice.
This.
For I can see
in the sediment—
the silent masses of Auschwitz,
the heaving stones of Intifada,
the piled putrid bodies
of the Valley of Ararat.
So I growl like
a wild sheep dog,
as if to say,
“The ancient wooden plank
between my teeth
is the vestige of Noah
and is it
not enough
that I brought you
to this place? ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem